


Neon Horizons

by Jacearts



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Courier is an oc whomst i love and also routinely traumatise, F/F, Other, idk what i'm doing help me, neutral towards other factions, very anti legion, wildcard questline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24242092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jacearts/pseuds/Jacearts
Summary: A former Legion slave turned courier wakes up with another scar to add to the list. Mostly following the story of the game, probably going to jump around alot so i can write about specific scenes. My courier follows the Wildcard storyline, shoots Legion on sight and doesn't much care for the other factions of the Mojave. She's also gay as hell and absolutely going to date a certain punchy Brotherhood scribe.
Relationships: Female Courier/Veronica Santangelo, Rose of Sharon Cassidy/Female Courier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Neon Horizons

_Truth is, the game was rigged from the start._

The words echoed around her head, each syllable bouncing around the walls of her skull like another bullet. That and his _fucking_ face. That shit-eating grin, who did this prick think he was? Someone without a godamn shred of respect, that’s who. She was a _courier_. You don’t fuck with couriers, you just don’t. Not unless you’re some junkie raider, and this asshole was not. Not with a suit like that. All for what, some chip?

The anger tightened into a throb. The smug face floated in front of her, taunting her from the other end of a barrel. Not just an asshole, a _sloppy_ one at that. Who the fuck leaves their mark alive in a situation like that? He had her on her godamn knees, how do you fuck up a kill from that close? It was adding insult to the injury, in the most literal way possible.

_Wait...i’m...i’m not dead? I’m not…_

The pain stabbed harder, shooting through her skull. It was accompanied by a dull, rhytmic _whump. Whump, whump, whump._ What the fuck was that? _Why can’t I feel my-_

All of a sudden, she could feel everything. The sting of sunlight burning into her eyelids, the heavy ache of bruised limbs and the ever present itch of old scars. The scratch of hospital sheets, of a parched throat. The maddening _whump_ of the ceiling fan. Her eyes cracked open.

“Hey, you’re awake!”

The voice was soft, warm, but nontheless sent another dagger through her head. Fuck, she felt like she’d just gone ten rounds with a deathclaw. She winced, attempting to mumble some sort of response but was interrupted by a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Easy, there. You took one hell of a beating, ain’t no rush for you to stand.”

She blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the blurry glow everything seemed to have. She was in a house, relatively nice looking one at that, and in a surgical bed. Didn’t feel like she was bound anymore, so that was something at least. Definitely wasn’t in her own clothes either, though. Meaning someone had stripped her-

She closed her eyes, grit her teeth. Tried to steady her breathing. _One step at a time. This guy probably saved your life._ As much as she despised any sort of helplessness, it was in her best interests to stay on this stranger’s good side util she felt strong enough to walk out under her own power.

“Where’m I?” She finally forced out. Christ, her tongue felt like lead. “What happened?”

“Well I'll be. You’re a strong one, ain’t ya? Interesting accent you go there too, tribal?” His tone was neural, a little amused and curious maybe but not accusatory, so she simply grunted in response, and he nodded. “Well then. You’ve been through a lot, miss. Though I must say, you’re looking damn good for a woman who took a bullet to the head. Guess I still got it.” He chuckled to himself, before continuing; “But hey, where are my manners. Name’s Doc Mitchell, I patched up that head o’yours. And i’m wondering how well I did, so. How’s about we start with what you remember? You got a name?”

She swallowed hard, nodded slightly, and immediately regretted it. “Sunny.” she hissed, squinting at the doctor through the pain. “What?” The man seemed to be laughing at something.

“Oh, nothing. Just we got a girl by that name in town already, as it happens. Funny thing, didn’t think it was that common a name.”

She grunted again, staring at him as she tried to piece what he had said together. He didn’t look much of a threat, at least. His mannerisms where kindly enough, he seemed genuine. Not, she supposed, that it mattered. She was more or less at his mercy right now either way. _Might as well trust the guy._

“You- you said I took a bullet?” She frowned, trying to remember. A smug suit, the barrel of a nine mil, a flash, then… “-in the _head?_ No shit?”

“No shit.” The doc smirked, “You don’t remember any of it? Hell, I shouldn’t complain. You remember your own name and can string a sentence together, that’s a damned good sign in my professional opinion.”

“I remember…” she trailed off, again wondering how much to trust this man. For all she knew, he could be working with that Suit to- _no, no, stop. That don’t make no fuckin’ sense and you know it. That’s the paranoia talkin’. Why’d he bother patchin’ you up if he wanted you dead?_ “I remember a Suit. Checkered sonofabitch. Real pretty lookin’ gun pointin’ at me. Couple’a goons, Khans I think. He said somethin’ about...about..”

She trailed off again then suddenly sat up, fighting to ignore the shooting pain that accompanied the movement. “The chip! Sir, i’m a courier, did’ya by any chance find anythin’ on me?”

“Easy, easy-” if he noticed the instinctive way she recoiled from his hand before accepting the support, he didn’t comment. “-I understand. Weren’t me that brought you in, but Victor brought along your belongings too. They’re safe in the other room.” He went quiet for a moment, a flash of guilt crossing his features. “Truth be told, I did have a look. See if I could identify you, next of kin, you understand? I can promise you there weren’t any kind of chip on you.”

_Fuck._

_That bastard, he fucking took it!_

This was bad, all kinds of bad. It wasn’t like she’d face any kind of direct punishment for losing a package, just meant she wouldn’t get paid for the delivery. Nothing _direct._ A courier’s word was their bond, it was a livelihood built around proving yourself reliable. No one would blame her for getting shot of course, but it would sure as fuck make the job offers dry up, if word got out. No, like it or not, her job depended on her tracking down that asshole and recovering her package.

Not that she was overly opposed to teaching that smug prick a lesson. If he was too lazy or dumb to finish the job, then the job was damn going to finish him.

“Much obliged for ya patchin’ me up, Doc,” she said as she pushed herself up, trying to swing off the bed only to almost fall to the floor. _Fuck! How long was I out?_ “Shi- I can’t- I need to be up, i gotta find this guy, you got any stims or somethin that I-”

“That’s enough of that talk.”

The sternness in his voice caught her off guard, surprising her enough that she let him push her back into the bed. “In case you missed all that, you took a bullet to the _head._ No disrespect Miss Sunny but you’re damn lucky to be alive, and you’re lookin’ at at least another week before I let you walk outta here.”

She scowled, but couldn’t argue. She already felt exhausted from what little action she’d taken. She slumped back into the bed, glaring silently at that damn roof fan. “Give me three days.” 

The doc chickled, “Well, you’re a stubborn one, i’ll give you that. Tell you what, when you can climb outta that bed and brew yourself a coffee all by yourself, I’ll give you my blessing. How’s that sound?”

She closed her eyes. 

“Three days.”

* * *

Three and a  _ half _ days later, Sunny stood staring into the cracked, dusty mirror. Deep blue eyes stared back at her, dark and sunken from the toll her injuries had taken on her body, but  _ determined. _ The Doc had done a damn good job, all things considered; the only real mark of her ordeal was the deep divot above her left temple, like an angry little red star against her tan skin, flanked by the thin lines of surgical scarring. The entire left side of her head had been shaved too, of course, dark brown hair only starting to stubble back in. Truth be told, she kind of liked the look. Wasn’t like she was a stranger to scars, after all, and these ones had a certain vibe. A  _ don’t fuck with me _ feel to them. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Mitchell had inquired about her other scars, only once. He had noticed her rifling through his bandages and extra linen the second she had the energy to walk, salvaging scraps to wrap around the deep grooves that circled her wrists. She had even fashioned a scarf out of a pillowcase to hide the albeit thinner scarring around her neck. He didn’t need to ask what they were, of course; near enough everyone this close to Legion territory had seen a slave before. The marks of cuff and collar were easily identifiable for what they were, and while the flogging across her back and shoulders was extensive, it too, was fairly self explanatory.

He had simply asked, “Why hide them? You don’t seem too fussed ‘bout the ones on your shoulders and ain’t like you’re alone-” She had cut him off with a sharp look and said in a tone that, while civil, brooked no argument; “If ya have any respect for me, Doc, don’t ever mention ‘em to me again.”

So no, this was nothing new. She dreaded to think how she might react to any concussions in the future, but that was a bridge to burn when she came to it. For now, she was as ready as she was ever going to be.

She splashed her face from the sink, taking the half-finished mug of coffee back with her into Mitchell’s kitchen and turning her attention to the pack on the table. There wasn’t much; mercifully, the securitron that had dragged her here had thought to bring her clothes and weapons. That sleeveless leather coat and desperado hat were as comforting to her as the magnum on her hip; when you carry what few possessions you have around with you, you get pretty damn attached to them.

The Doc walked in just as she was slinging her baby, a lovingly maintained scoped 308, across the shoulder opposite her pack.

“So that’s you, then? Gotta say, surly as you’ve been I think I’ll miss the company.”

She turned, flashing an apologetic smile.

“‘Pologies, Doc. You ain’t caught me at my best, guess I have been a little harsh on ya. Tell ya what, next time I’m through Goodsprings i’ll bring ya a drink to make up for it.”

She shifted awkwardly “‘Bout payin’ you for the patch-up. Obviously you can keep the caps I had on me. I’d say I owe ya at least one fifty on top of that. You can have my word i’ll come back through with ‘em once I clear up my current job.”

“You mean the one who shot you.”

The old man smiled back, shaking his head, “No, don’t you go worrying about my pay. I’ll take what you have if it means that much to you, but i’m just happy to see you still kicking.”

“You’re shi-” she bit her tongue, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. “You’re... _ sure _ ? I wouldn’t feel right just up an’ vanishin’ on the bloke who saved my life.”

“Tell you what, if it means that much to you why don’t you poke your head in around town before you leave? I know our Sunny took something of a fondness for you and i’m sure there might be an odd-job or two you can do to repay the favour. Maybe see if you can find where your Suit was headed?”

She let out a breath, nodding gratefully. Truth be told, she would have left if he hadn’t pressed, but she liked to think she had some vague sense of honour left to her. “I’ll do that. Thanks again, Doc.”

“Keep your thanks, just try not to go getting shot again!”

* * *

The following evening, Sunny stood over her own grave.

Business in town had turned out to be more intensive than she had thought; the NCR correctional breakout must have been fairly recent, because she’d never heard of a Powder Ganger before. Still, she was perfectly happy to put a bullet of her own between the eyes of what to her mind didn’t look like anything more than raiders. In a way, it had been good to have a little practice to get a feel for shooting again. She’d been a little worried the headshot might have ruined her aim.

Word was her Suit had been headed for Primm. Honestly, she’d be shocked if he was going anywhere other than the Strip itself, dressed all fancy like that, but if she kept asking around then she would at least know she was on the right track. Before she left the town proper, she had decided to hike up to the town cemetery. She told herself she was looking for clues.  _ Yeah. Clues. Not your own fuckin’ ghost. _

She leaned against a somewhat rickety old fence, cigar smoke trailing lazily from her mouth as she watched the neon glow of Vegas flicker on the horizon. Something about the city seemed to be calling to her; she had felt something similar before, once or twice. She was a drifter by nature but every now and then some beacon in the dark would call to her like a moth to flame; appropriate, considering she usually ended up burned. 

Of course this would happen now. Of course she would get jumped and stranded in the most contested godamn part of the Mojave right as the Legion was moving in. Of course she would be fucking  _ trapped _ here if she wanted to maintain any kind of reputation. Of. Fucking.  _ Course. _

_ I fuckin’ dare those motherfuckers. Fucking let them take a shot too.  _

She let out a long breath, forcing herself to unclench her fists. Things were going to get ugly almost certainly, but godamit, she was going to get what she was owed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks so much for reading! I haven't done a long term fic before so if you enjoyed this chapter please leave a like or a comment, I crave validation and that's probably going to be the main factor in how long this fic gets lol  
> If you're here because you saw gay i PROMISE it will be gay if i get that far. In like. a chapter or two.


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